


Freundeskreis

by loopd



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Beezer is a dog, Garrison trio, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith and Shiro are Adoptive Siblings, Lance has a big family, Multi, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Slow Build, all the lions are just crappy teenage means of transport, allura has vitiligo, also lots of sexuality headcanons, also pets(!!), and then get together and break up, and then some heavier stuff, everyone's in so many clubs, how do i even tag tho, i love, it's the only way they can see each other, lotor general squad ftw, lots of ethnicity headcanons, narti's cat is a service cat, people get together and break up, people have other siblings as well now, rolo and nyma are twins, romelle has vitiligo, so i guess, sometimes a chat fic, warning for regular highschool bullshit, youll see them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-01-29 14:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12633327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loopd/pseuds/loopd
Summary: Your classic Highschool!AU, equipped with screaming, pining and disastrous parties.





	1. The Night is Young and We're at Taco Bell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's movie night at the Holts', and Matt isn't back from his rowing training yet.

-Nov. 4 2017-

Multiple bags crinkled as they tumbled lightly onto the shining, circular table, creating a mound that blocked the three from seeing each other's heads. A heavy silence settled over Pidge as they felt the other two's micro-movements: knuckles popping, slight nodding, wavering eyes and a small, rotating movement of Lance's neck. That was the signal. Small hands moved rapidly, swiping "Kettle" from under "Caramel" and then batting away "Buttered" at warp-speed, all the while guarding a twelve-pack of watermelon iced tea from slender, tanned, grabbing fingers.

'Get off my caffeine!' Pidge shouted finally, looking Lance directly in the eyes. 'I'm rationing it out later!'

'Why though?' Lance asked, using one hand to emphasise his confusion and the other to paw at raspberry fruit jerky and honey mustard pretzels. 'It's not like you won't get any. And besides, who the fuck wants five cans of iced tea?'

'Me, bitch. I'm drinking six, no questions,' Pidge responded, sliding three Charleston Chews across the table to Hunk.

'Thanks!' Hunk shouted, voice muffled in the mound, looking for loose Nerd Ropes and Twizzlers. 'Also, have we actually chosen what movies we're watching?'

'I think Robin Hood: Men in Tights and Baby Driver? And,' Lance paused to hit over a blue Jello cup to himself. 'And Logan Lucky?'

Pidge silently shook their head while grabbing the remaining can of Pringles. 'Baby Driver, Robin Hood: Men in Tights and Jupiter Ascending.'

Lance and Hunk groaned simultaneously. 'No, thanks,' Lance whined. 'Cami saw it with a few of her gym friends and she said it felt like she was in the cinema for a week.'

'That's why we have to watch it,' Pidge replied. 'To truly appreciate good film, one must first suffer through bad film.'

'That's just not even true,' Hunk argued. Desperate to stop thinking of the incoming torture, he asked, 'How is Camila, Lance?'

'Yeah, she's doing good,' Lance answered. 'She's super into cars at the moment though, and every time she sees a muscle car she whistles as it goes by.'

Pidge gave an exaggerated grin. 'Gotta get me a sibling like that.'

Hunk agreed by nodding, grabbing the last item in the middle of the table- a bag of mixed jellybeans- and standing up.

Movie night had been a staple event in Pidge, Hunk and Lance's friendship seemingly forever. In actual fact it dated back to the Ol' Man Gilbert Ice Storm of Twenty-O-Seven, wherein Frederick Gilbert, the head of the last farm in town, had to close down for the winter for the first time in thirty years after his hands became frozen to his barn's door handles. Since that point it had been a semimonthly tradition of gorging on junk food; watching a variety of films ranging in quality, and then crashing at whoever dared host it until late into the following Sunday afternoon. This week they were stationed at the Holts', huddled together in the living room.

'Where is Matt, by the way?' Lance asked as the trailers were running.

'He's at the boathouse still,' Pidge answered.

'But it's, like, seven o'clock?' Hunk interjected.

'I know,' Pidge replied. 'It seems like the rowers are there constantly. I think now that it's November they're just doing circuits, so they might start finishing earlier. But yeah, it's a little ridiculous.'

'It totally is,' Lance agreed, his voice muffled through Jello. 'He's a cox, right?'

'He's the cox,' Pidge corrected, a smile creeping onto their face. 'He's on the J19 A Team, and the entire club knows they'd be pressed to find a reserve.'

'I guess it pays to be short,' Lance laughed. He let out a fast, guttural sound when Pidge punched his arm, but continued laughing afterwards.

'Shush! Shush!' Hunk shouted abruptly, pointing to the screen. 'The opening credits are about to run!'

'Shit!' Pidge added. 'Blankets, stat!'

Lance threw his arm behind him, hitting the couch and dragging the pile of blankets on top of it to the ground. All three quickly spread out the blankets among themselves and settled into the foot of the couch.

* * *

Matt padded into the house at almost midnight, making sure not to turn on any of the lights. Training had officially ended at eight, but unofficially it had ended at half-past-nine. This was after another "erging" session with "the bros", or more accurately, the one specific "bro" who was the stroke for the J19 A's eight, and who had insisted that, because they had only been on the water together for a month, the two ought to get to know each other better in order to be in-sync when making decisions during races. Then with nine-thirty's passing came a question from said stroke about whether Matt wanted to go to the Taco Bell a couple of blocks away to "carb-load", as he had put it. Obviously, Matt had agreed to the plan and had spent the next ninety minutes shoving fast-food down his gullet and accidentally sucking a Baja Blast Freeze up through his nose whenever the stroke- Shiro, Matt had learned- told a joke that was at least mediocrely funny. The two had made a move to leave once eleven struck, but before Matt could begin jogging home Shiro made sure that he had Matt's number saved in his phone and vice versa, and made doubly sure that Matt's coat was zipped up.

'Wouldn't want the star coxswain coming down with anything when the regatta's only two weeks away,' Shiro had said when Matt had raised his eyebrows at the action.

Matt groped for the couch silently, cautious of accidentally whacking one of the three who were now asleep in a large lump on it. Matt stumbled forward abruptly when his hands pushed through air. For a few seconds there was a struggle between him and the laws of physics, but soon that ended with him landing face-first on an empty section of the sofa. Relieved at having actually found a spot, he clambered up and settled in, opening his phone to see three messages from Shiro.

-

 **Shiro:** Hi there

 **Shiro:** Just seeing if you got home alright

 **Shiro:** Cuz you didn't bring your glasses this session, so

 **Matt:** Yeah I'm good, thanks tho.

 **Matt:** I know the way home from the boathouse like the back of my hand

 **Matt:** Nothing about that jog could ever phase me lol

 **Shiro:** Haha

 **Shiro:** Sorry I just can't get the image of you snorting that slushie onto that pigeon out of my head

 **Matt:** Omg

 **Matt:** I didn't even mean it to happen.

 **Matt:** It just

 **Shiro:** *splrrrrrsh*

 **Shiro:** Yeah I know

 **Matt:** Lolol

 **Matt** **:** It's kinda late so I gotta go

 **Shiro:** Yeah sure no worries

 **Matt:** Thanks

 **Matt:** Goodnight(?)

 **Shiro:** Yeah

 **Shiro:** G'night

-

'G'night?' Matt asked to no one far too loudly. 'Who the fuck says that? Who says-'

'G'night,' Lance mumbled in his sleep, throwing an arm onto Matt's knees.

'Oh,' Matt whispered. Slowly, he peeled the boy's arm off himself and stood from the couch, not wanting the fake leather to squeak. He began to pad around the house once more, getting everything he would need for Sunday's session ready before going to bed. He stayed awake for a while, staring at his peeling, glowing stars that were still stuck, but only barely, to the ceiling.

 


	2. 2006 Called Pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge is forced into going to the boathouse. Awkward conversations ensue.

-Nov. 5 2017-

The next day dawned, and Matt awoke to slightly-too-loud, tinny, soft-core rock crackling through his self-wired radio. For a few moments he was in a complete state of calm, drowsy from his late night before. As he came out of his stupor, however, it suddenly dawned on him that he still had circuits at the boathouse five hours from now. Immediately, he was filled with a sense of dread that could only have been rivaled by the time back in the fourth grade when he had signed up for the talent show. Upon playing his first note on the keyboard, he watched in horror as its legs buckled and it fell, tumbling over the edge of the stage in the process and hitting his principal in the face. The effects of last night's events on Matt had carried on well into his dreams in the pitch-dark middle of the night, and now he was terrified, for no actual, viable reason, of seeing Shiro at the boathouse again. Mind racing for ideas while he was brushing his teeth, he heard Pidge let out an ungodly scream from the kitchen.

"Pidge's waffles probably aren't wiring up correctly as the controls for that game they made two nights back," Matt thought, accidentally snagging a bristle on a slightly-ground molar in the process. And then it hit him. He practically flew into the kitchen, toothbrush still in hand and mouth, and pointed accusingly at Pidge with his other hand.

'Hey, little Pidgeot! Guess what!' He changed stance, going down on one knee, his legs spread substantially wide. 'You're coming with me to the boathouse!'

Lance and Hunk, still slightly dazed from the sugar rush induced on them the night before, let out a single breathy guffaw each from their places, slumped fully into the couch

Pidge barely looked up at the spectacle from their make-shift console. 'Nope,' they replied, removing a wire clip from one square of a waffle and re-inserting it at a different angle into another.

'Y-what?' Matt asked, still brushing his teeth. 'Why "nope"?' He moved around to Pidge's workspace and leaned down to look at the computer screen. Pidge slapped him hard across the head. Lance screamed.

'Because,' Pidge breathed, letting the silence of the room settle around them after Lance's moment. 'Nope.'

'Aw c'mon!' Matt argued, still brushing his teeth. 'That's not a good enough excuse!'

'Well then, give me a good enough excuse for making me go,' Pidge suggested, pushing back from their workspace and crossing their arms, a smug look appearing on their face. 'You haven't ever needed me at practice before. Why do you need me now?'

Matt went an incredibly deep, beetroot red and decided now was as good a time as any to stop brushing his teeth. He went back into the bathroom, cleared his mouth of foam and returned to the kitchen, only to find that Pidge, Hunk and Lance were all still in the exact same place, waiting expectantly. The beetroot red of Matt's cheeks verged on an unhealthy shade of burgundy.

'I was out last night with the new stroke and he's really, really hot,' Matt muttered quickly, hoping to any deity present that Pidge did not ask for a re-iteration. Alas, the gods failed him.

'Come again?' Pidge asked, seemingly enjoying this moment.

'I was out last night with the new stroke and he's really, really hot,' Matt repeated at just under a normal speaking voice. He knew Pidge could hear him now.

'Oops, sorry, still didn't quite catch that,' Pidge replied, struggling to keep in laughter. 'How 'bout you shout it? Loud and proud, Matt.'

Matt gave a deep sigh before taking in all the air he could and shouting, for the whole house to hear, 'I was out last night with the new stroke and he's really, really hot!'

'That's great, sweetie!' Matt heard his mother say from his parents' bedroom upstairs.

The Holts' dog, Bae Bae, gave a bark of approval.

Hunk and Lance whooped from the couch, with Lance adding a further, 'My one and only bi icon!'

'Well, you should've just said that in the first place, Matt! Of course I'd love to help my big brother out!' Pidge said cheerily, patting Matt on the shoulder before briskly walking into their room and shutting the door behind them.

Matt, exhausted, craned his neck to read the clock in the living room and saw he had a strong four hours before he needed to set off to the boathouse. Killing spare time would never again be so hard.

* * *

Pidge hated their brother's Moped. It was a ghastly shade of Oompa Loompa orange and every time Matt started it up it made a horrible chunking, clunking sound that made it seem like the vehicle was about to self-destruct right under their feet. But here Pidge was, perched on the back of Matt's moped, zipping down the few back roads that separated the Holts' house from the public boathouse that Garrison High School used for its rowing practices. Matt pulled into the small, barely and unevenly paved parking lot and came to a sputtering stop in a spot marked by two stout, wooden poles. Pidge disembarked as quickly as was humanly possible and made immediately for the boathouse, suddenly craving toast. They threw open the door and strode with purpose over to the toaster. Only a few of the rowers inside started, as all the rest were used to Pidge tagging along to Matt's practices frequently in the past, so Pidge was able to immediately pick out the newbies in the crew.

After haphazardly shoving four slices of bread into the toaster with the full intent of consuming all of them, Pidge skimmed the room and picked out the crew who were still regarding them with shock or fear. In the end there were three candidates left who could fulfill the role of Matt's love interest: a lanky, prepubescent boy holding an older Margaret Atwood book in his hands and a ring of keys accompanied with a leather tag that stated "YHWH wants YOU to learn Hebrew"; a Crimson-Chin-esque, stereotypical jock with Fred Jones hair and and some kind of "Happy Birthday Mr. President" telegram impersonator for a girlfriend; and a seemingly stand-up kind of guy with a godlike build talking calmly on his phone, blessed with a smile that reached his eyes even if it didn't reach his mouth all the time.

That man. Was the love interest. There was no doubt in Pidge's mind. As soon as the man had hung up, they approached him with vigor, a hand already outstretched and prepped for an appropriately cordial-yet-assertive handshake.

'Hi,' Pidge began with a purposefully neutral tone. 'Are you the new guy?'

He seemed to flush a bit under the sudden attention, but quickly stuck out his own hand and shook theirs with an appropriately firm grip. 'I guess I would be.' He smiled similarly to how he had while on the phone. He was certainly a charmer. 'I'm Shiro. And you are?'

'Pidge,' they answered, warming up to the idea of Shiro. 'I'm Matt's sibling.'

There was a telltale look on Shiro's face that said he had enjoyed his night with the coxswain as much as Matt had enjoyed his with the new stroke. Shiro smiled again, this one more nervous than the last.

'That's cool,' Shiro responded. Suddenly his face lit up. 'Oh my god, you know what? My brother's here today; he's up on the little viewing pavilion. His name's Keith. Maybe you could meet each other.' His last sentence came out as more of a question, but Pidge still felt obliged. They smiled, replied that they would, and then pointed themself in the direction of the "viewing pavilion".

In all honesty the space was more of a small terrace than anything else, fitting a maximum of five people at any one time. It jutted slightly out from the workout room on the second floor, with angular support pipes holding it to the outside walls of the back of the boathouse. Pidge climbed the rickety, spiral staircase to the second floor extremely apprehensively. It was incredibly tight, causing a bruised hip on the banister at every turn, and each of the wooden steps had faded and worn away in the center. Not only that, but the peripheral areas of the steps had become suspiciously sticky. Pidge thought it must have been the old varnish, but they didn't absolutely believe that. This meant that regardless of where someone stepped, finding reliable purchase on the staircase was close to impossible.

Pidge finally managed to round the last turn in the staircase and burst into the second floor, panting slightly from the stress of it all. Still relatively dizzy from what was practically just spinning around, they stumbled onto the terrace and squinted hard against the sun to try and make out the location of this "Keith". Having peered around the balcony for a little while, they were suddenly interrupted by a sharp voice to the left. It was raspy. Or, what is croaky? Pidge wasn't sure.

'You having fun there?' the voice asked, evidently put off by Pidge's existing in the same space as it.

'Absolutely,' Pidge replied, voice dripping in sarcasm and as much vexation as, if not more than, this mysterious voice. They whirled around to where the voice was coming from, and were met with the form of a teenager.

This teenager was quite lanky, but not Lance-like beanpole lanky; this kid was slightly too short for that. There was also slightly more of a build apparent here: the teen's legs were toned and there was a more distinct separation of the shapes of the teen's forearms and upper arms. They seemed to be the only other person here.

'Are you Keith?' Pidge continued, moving nearer and leaning against the railing surrounding the pavilion.

'Who the fuck told you that?' He responded, seemingly already enraged by the previous question. He reached into his back pocket and quickly drew out a switchblade. 'Give me the name or I will cut you up into so many pieces they'll think you were toast crumbs.'

'Your brother told me, dude. What the fuck. Chill,' Pidge responded, watching carefully as Keith re-pocketed his switchblade.

Keith scoffed. Pidge could have sworn there was more meaning to that than was let on, but there was not enough time in the year to deconstruct and then reconstruct whatever mess was present in that scoff.

'So are you at Garrison too?' Pidge asked, trying to clear the murderous air around the viewing pavilion.

'Unfortunately,' Keith replied. 'I'm a junior.'

'Explains why I haven't seen you around yet,' Pidge responded. 'I'm a sophomore.'

'I'm surprised you're even in high school,' Keith teased.

Pidge feigned a gasp. At this point in their life, jokes about height or build were so above the belt that Pidge couldn't even reach them. They felt like retorting with something classic like "Wow, you can see" or something a bit more avant-garde like "If there is a higher being, and that being did indeed make humans in the image of it, then surely you and I are on an even playing field of aesthetic acceptability" but thought that maybe widening the rift between this stranger and them would be the opposite of progress.

Both of them quickly settled into a fairly pregnant silence which neither of them wanted to allow to give birth to conversation. Soon enough the actual rowing training session began, and Pidge spent the rest of their afternoon watching the fine balance between absolute skill and absolute fuckery in which Matt so willingly dabbled five out of seven days in the week. As the session was packing up, Pidge sent an unnecessary "goodbye" to Keith before dashing out of the pavilion and racing down the stairs. They were beyond ready to get home and finish making their waffle controllers, even though the waffles had probably either gone soggy or had been eaten by the two boys who had hopefully gone home at this point. Finally breaking through into the great, fresh outside world, they were not prepared for what they would see.

There Matt was. Talking to Shiro, laughing along with whatever he said, fully engaged in the conversation. They were both leaning against Matt's disgusting Moped, pretty much staring at each other, when suddenly, to Pidge's horror and delight, they kissed. It wasn't a big kiss. Pidge timed it at approximately two seconds long. They gathered from their limited view that it was open mouthed but that there was absolutely no tongue involved. Regardless, they felt like they were committing a horrendous crime, and pretended at once that the trees near them were the most fascinating things they had ever seen. They decided to wait until Matt told them it happened, and then to act moderately surprised at the "revelation".

 


End file.
